by Stuart Woods
“Well, I’m certainly no marriage counselor, but…”
“Mr. Forrester, I ask you again: are you qualified to judge the state of their marriage?”
“Well, I’m certainly no marriage counselor.”
“Answer the question: are you qualified? Yes or no?”
“No,” Forrester admitted.
“Did you ever see the couple again after they sailed from the Canaries?”
“No, just Mrs. Manning.”
“You were not aboard the yacht with them when it sailed, were you?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“So you have no personal knowledge of what occurred aboard that yacht when Paul Manning died?”
“I have Mrs. Manning’s account.”
“But you have no personal knowledge of these events, do you?”
“No.”
“I have no further questions of this witness.” Sir Winston sat down.
Stone stood. “Your Lordship, I have a brief redirect.”
“Proceed.”
“Mr. Forrester, you saw Mr. and Mrs. Manning together in the Canaries, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And you were the last person alive to see them together?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Relying on your judgment as a journalist and as a human being, do you believe them to have been happily married?”
“I certainly do.”
“Do you believe Allison Manning’s account of her husband’s death to be true?”
“Yes, I certainly do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Forrester, I have no further questions.”
“You may step down, Mr. Forrester,” the judge said. “Mr. Barrington, do you wish to call any other witnesses?”
“Yes, Your Lordship. The defense calls Mrs. Allison Manning.”
Stone watched Allison as she left the dock and walked to the witness box. She seemed relaxed, serene; she certainly looked beautiful. If I can just get her through this, he thought, and if she stands up under cross without losing it, I can win this case.
Allison took hold of the Bible and swore to tell the truth.
Chapter
55
Stone waited while Allison arranged herself in the witness chair and recited her full name and address. He began questioning her slowly about her family background and education, letting her settle down and deal with easy questions. She was following his instruction, making eye contact with the jurors as she answered. Then he began to get to the meat of the matter.
“Mrs. Manning, when and how did you first meet your husband, Paul?”
“It was a little over five years ago,” she said. “I was working as an art director with an advertising agency in New York, and I was invited to dinner at the home of my boss. Paul was a guest, too.”
“Did you hit it off immediately?”
“Yes, we did. Paul took me home in a taxi and asked me out for dinner that weekend.”
“And did you begin to see him on a regular basis after that?”
“Yes, we began seeing each other two or three times a week, and before long, we were spending most of our time together.”
“Was Paul working as a writer at that time?”
“Yes, he had given up his newspaper career and was writing his third novel when we met.”
“Was he a very successful writer at that time?”
“No. He was earning a modest living at his craft, but he had not yet begun to sell books in large numbers.”
“After you had been seeing each other for a time, did the subject of marriage come up?”
“The subject came up very early in our relationship,” she said, “although we didn’t actually set a date until we had been seeing each other for several months.”
“And when did you marry?”
“A few weeks after that—about four and a half years ago.”
“In what circumstances were you married.”
“I gave up my tiny apartment and moved into Paul’s. It wasn’t much bigger; it was a three-room flat in Greenwich Village, a fourth-floor walkup.”
“Would you describe it as a modest apartment?”
She smiled. “I would describe it as less than modest. We painted the place ourselves, but that didn’t make the heating or the plumbing work any better.”
“After you were married, did Paul’s career as a writer become more successful?”
“Yes. His third novel became a bestseller, and that allowed him to get a much better contract for his next book. It also meant that his income increased sharply.”
“Did your circumstances improve after that?”
“Oh, yes. We bought a house in Greenwich, Connecticut, a large, comfortable house. Greenwich is near enough to New York City that Paul could spend the day in town visiting his publisher and still be home by dinner.”
“In what other ways did Paul’s success change your lives?”
“Well, we both drove expensive cars, we ate out in restaurants a lot, and we entertained at dinner parties. I bought better clothes, and so did Paul.”
“And did there come a time when Paul decided he wanted a yacht?”
“Yes. He had a small boat—a twenty-five-footer—when we married, and we used to sail that a lot. Then, after the success of his fourth novel, Paul ordered a larger yacht to be built at a yard in Finland.”
“How long did it take to build the larger yacht?”
“About a year and a half.”
“Is this the yacht which is now moored at the English Harbour marina?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything unusual about this yacht, apart from its larger size?”
“Well, it had the best equipment Paul could find, and it was designed to be sailed singlehanded.”
“By singlehanded, do you mean by one person alone?”
“Yes. When we were aboard together, Paul did all the sailing, and I did all the domestic chores—cooking and so forth.”
“When the new yacht was delivered, did you and Paul decide to sail it to Europe?”
“Yes; in fact, that was Paul’s intention when he ordered the boat.”
“Please tell us about the trip.”
Allison outlined their route across the Atlantic and their stops in various ports in England, France, Spain, and in the Mediterranean, finishing her account with a description of their departure from the Canary Islands for Antigua.
“Before you left the United States, how would you describe your relationship with your husband?”
“We were extremely happy—euphoric, really. You know how newlyweds are.” She said this directly to a juror, who blushed.
“And when you began your voyage across the Atlantic, did your relationship change?”
“Only in that we became closer. When you spend a lot of time with a person on a boat, you really get to know him.”
“Did this constant proximity wear on your marriage?”
“On the contrary, I think it made our marriage stronger.”
“You are aware that not all couples do as well at sea.”
She smiled. “Oh, yes; we met a number of couples in our travels who were sick of each other. On the other hand, we met a lot more who enjoyed being alone together on a boat.”
“You were nearly fifteen years younger than your husband, Mrs. Manning; did that become a problem in your marriage?”
“Never at any time. We were both very comfortable with the age difference.”
“When you sailed from the Canaries for Antigua, was your marriage still a good one?”
“I would say that it was better than ever. We talked about that, and Paul felt the same way. We both felt very grateful for each other.”
“Take us back, now, Mrs. Manning, to your departure from the Canaries, and tell us, with as much detail as you can, what happened in the days after that.”
Allison devoted her attention entirely to the jury. She told of their start across the Atlantic and how, after ten days, it had bee
n necessary for her to be hauled up the mast to retrieve the top swivel of the headsail reefing system. She explained this carefully to the jury, and they seemed to understand what the problem was. She told then of looking down and seeing her husband, apparently ill, and of his collapse and her fear of being stuck at the top of the mast. Tears had begun to roll down her cheeks, and she dabbed at them with a tissue. When she told how she had buried her husband at sea, she wept openly, and the judge had to call a brief halt to her testimony while she recovered herself. Stone was delighted; she hadn’t cried at the coroner’s inquest, but the tears flowed freely now, and a glance at the jury revealed how affected they were. Finally, she stopped crying, and the judge nodded at Stone to continue with his questions.
“Mrs. Manning, did you know how to sail the yacht after your husband’s death?”
“Only in the most general sense. The deck of the boat was laid out so that Paul could easily handle it without my help. The only time I had any real job to do was handling the bow-line when we docked.”
“So, alone in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, you had to learn how to sail the boat?”
“Yes, and to navigate, as well. There was a book aboard on celestial navigation, and from that I learned to take a moon sight to establish our latitude. From then on, I just tried to keep the boat on the same latitude. I was off a little, though, when we made our landfall. I was aiming at Antigua, but I fetched up in St. Marks.”
“When you say ‘we,’ to whom are you referring?”
“To the boat and me. I began to think of the boat as my partner in survival.”
“Mrs. Manning, has everything you have told the court today been the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “As God is my witness it is the truth.”
Stone turned to Sir Winston. “Your witness,” he said, then sat down.
Sir Winston rose slowly and looked contemptuously at Allison for a good half minute before he began. “Your Lordship, I will be brief,” he said. “Mrs. Manning, why did you kill your husband?”
“I…” she began, but Sir Winston cut her off.
“Was it for the millions he had earned?”
“I…”
“Was it for the twelve million dollars in insurance?”
“Sir Winston…”
She was beginning to grow angry now, and Stone had warned her against that.
“Was it because you had learned to hate him while you were confined with him aboard the yacht for protracted periods?”
“Sir Winston!” she shouted. “I did not kill my husband!”
“Oh, but you did, Mrs. Manning,” he replied. “There were many times aboard the yacht when Mr. Manning was vulnerable, weren’t there?”
“Vulnerable?”
“Times when a small shove would have put this large man overboard. Weren’t there such times?”
“I did not push him overboard!”
“Answer me, Mrs. Manning! Were there not opportunities?”
“If that was what I wanted, I suppose so. But…”
“As when your husband stepped outside the lifelines to urinate, holding on to the yacht with only one hand?”
“Perhaps, but I didn’t…”
“You could have stabbed that one hand with a knife, couldn’t you?”
“No. I…”
“You could have bitten that hand, couldn’t you?”
“I didn’t!”
“That hand that had fed and clothed and given you every luxury!”
“I did not do that!” Tears were streaming down her face again.
“Oh, yes, you did, Mrs. Manning. This jury can look into those angry eyes and see that you did!”
“You’re mad!” she screamed at him. “Completely mad!”
“But not as mad as you were with your husband. So mad that you could abandon him to his fate in the middle of a huge ocean.”
“I did not!” she bawled. “As God is my witness…”
“Yes, you did!”
Stone was on his feet. “Your Lordship, Sir Winston is badgering the witness, not offering evidence.”
The judge held up a hand to quiet him. “Sir Winston…” he said.
“I am finished with this witness, Your Lordship,” Sir Winston said, looking at her once again with contempt. “I think the jury can see through this performance.” He sat down.
Allison sat in the witness chair, sobbing.
“You may step down, Mrs. Manning,” the judge said quietly.
The bailiff helped her down and back to the dock, where she continued to weep.
Chapter
56
The judge looked up at the jury. “Gentlemen, we will now move to closing arguments. Sir Winston, may we have your closing?”
Sir Winston Sutherland rose and faced the jury, offering Stone and Sir Leslie Hewitt his back. “Gentlemen,” Sir Winston said. “Today you have seen evil incarnate in the form of a pretty woman, not the first time the devil has used this form. You have heard how Paul Manning, a successful writer, gave his wife everything—a big house, expensive cars and clothes, a dream trip on a glorious yacht—and how she showed her gratitude by ending his life so that she could have all his money for herself.
“Think of it, gentlemen: a yacht filled with the utensils of death—knives, harpoons, and, no doubt, other weapons since disposed of at sea.”
Stone was halfway to his feet, but Sir Leslie put out a hand and stopped him. He held a finger to his lips, and Stone sank back into his chair.
“Was there a pistol aboard the yacht?” Sir Winston continued. “Was there a shotgun? Probably, but the Atlantic Ocean is a very large rubbish bin, so we shall never know. Instead, we must put ourselves aboard that yacht and see what certainly happened there—how Paul Manning was, one way or another, consigned to the sea; how he may have watched the yacht sailing away without him, leaving him alone with the sharks and other creatures that would devour the evidence of his murdered corpse.
“Allison Manning thought she could get away with it, but she had not counted on the will for justice in St. Marks, and she had not counted on you—a jury of honest men who would see through her protestations and her tears to the truth—that she coldly and maliciously and with malice aforethought murdered her husband. Not even when he suspected her motives, as his diary shows he did, could he be on guard every second of the day and night, to protect himself from his evil wife. No, his fate was sealed as soon as he sailed from the Canary Islands. At that moment, he was a dead man.
“In St. Marks we do not placidly accept the murder of human beings. We have constructed a system of justice which has no tolerance for murderers and which rids us of them with dispatch. Today, you are the instrument of that justice, and your island nation expects of you that you will swiftly reach a verdict of guilty and allow His Lordship to pronounce the sentence that follows from such guilt.
“Gentlemen,” he said slowly and gravely, “do your duty!” He turned and sat down.
Stone leaned over to his co-counsel. “I hope you will speak longer than that,” he said.
Sir Leslie looked at his pocket watch and shook his head. “I must be finished soon or appear to insult the jury by requiring them to attend this trial for another day. That would not rebound to our client’s benefit.”
The judge was staring harshly at the defense table. “Sir Leslie, will you close now?”
Hewitt stood up. “Yes, indeed, Your Lordship.” He left the defense table and walked closer to the jury. “Gentlemen,” he said softly but clearly, “today you have been treated to a demonstration of what happens when too much power collects in too few hands.”
“Sir Leslie!” the judge barked.
“My apologies, Your Lordship,” Hewitt said. “My remarks were not directed at the court but at the prosecution.”
“Nevertheless…” the judge said, then sank back into his chair.
Hewitt turned again to the jury. “Gentlemen, my remarks w
ere not intended to be of a personal nature but merely to comment on how the ministry of justice is operated by the whim of one man. Only in such a ministry would this case ever have been brought to trial.”
“Sir Leslie,” the judge said, “I will not warn you again. You do not wish to incur my wrath.”
Hewitt turned and bowed solemnly to the bench, then turned back to the jury. “Gentlemen, the prosecution has not presented one whit of convincing evidence today—no evidence that a murder even took place, let alone that my client committed it. To call the prosecution’s case circumstantial would be to elevate it to the realm of possibility, and the events aboard the yacht as Sir Winston has described them are not even remotely possible.
“He would ask you to believe, on the basis of no physical evidence, no witnesses, and no common sense, that this lovely woman deliberately caused her beloved husband’s death—and for money. As weak as his case is, I will address the points he has attempted to make. First, the so-called diary has been convincingly shown to be notes for Mr. Manning’s next novel; second, the presence of knives and harpoons aboard the yacht has been made out to be sinister, but does not each of you have a kitchen where a number of knives reside? And are you murderers because of it? Of course not. You are no more murderers than is Mrs. Manning. Sir Winston has said that Mrs. Manning must be a murderer because she had the opportunity, but each of us has opportunities to kill every day, and we do not kill. Neither did Mrs. Manning.
“The very last person to see Paul Manning alive other than Mrs. Manning, Mr. Forrester, someone who knew Mr. Manning well, has testified that he witnessed a happy marriage in the days before the couple sailed from the Canaries. Not one witness has been brought forward to testify to the contrary, because there is no such witness. If there were, Sir Winston would have found him, believe me.
“But the greatest proof of Mrs. Manning’s innocence is Mrs. Manning herself. You have heard her describe her life with her husband, their delight in his success, their wonderful sailing adventure which they both enjoyed so much. You have heard her words, and every man of you can surely recognize the truth when he hears it. The prosecution has offered nothing but bluster and posturing to refute her patently truthful testimony, because the prosecution has nothing else to offer.